The First Year of Martin Malagot
by Brian Conley
Summary: After reading every Harry Potter book, I started a story in which I attempted to emulate JK Rowling's writing style. It's an original story and character set in the world of Harry Potter. Only two chapters for now, wondering if it's both accurate in my attempt and / or worth continuing. Thank you very much for you time.
1. A Wet Welcome

**1 - A Wet Welcome**

The rainstorm had started as soon as everybody had deboarded the Hogwarts Express, almost as though it had been waiting for the perfect time to strike. For everybody but the first-years, this wasn't a problem. They simply hurried to their waiting carriages and rode in dry peace to the castle. The first-years, however, were left in the lurch of pouring rain, herded together by a particularly large teacher under a hideously pink umbrella. In the center of what surely looked like a group of huddled mice to any of the owls cowering in the nearby trees, stood a boy a half-head higher than those around him.

Martin Malagot was eleven-and-a-half years old, with today being his half-birthday. Though this wasn't ever an occasion for celebration, it was something he always took note of and with a bitter grin, wondered if it was anything more than coincidence that it and his situation lined up. The rain was cold and hard enough to almost hurt. The yellow streetlamps did little under the watery veil. As they reached the crest of the nearby hill, Martin gave the Express one last glance, with its dim lights now just a smudge of color in the rain.

"Seems silly that we have to take the long way." muttered Martin , pointing his complaint at nobody in particular. He was nearly sure it had gotten lost in the rain when a girl in front of him turned a bit over her shoulder, a long few curls of bright yellow hair spilling out from under her hood.

"My brother says that this is how all first-years have to go." She said over the rain. A few students around them noticeably turned to her voice, though most preferred to keep their heads down.

"Even in rain like this?" said Martin, "One would think they'd make exception."

"My brother says-" The yellow-haired girl began to say, but was cut short by the sudden appearance of Hogwarts castle on the high cliff overlooking the lake. Through the rain, only the lights and general shape could be seen, but its prominence was enough to capture the attention of nearly every student there. Martin looked up at it with a general interest, more concerned really with getting inside and drying off.

The narrow path they'd been walking on opened up, removing the dark treeline and replacing it with a tremendously large lake. Despite the path continuing onward, the large man lead them to a nearby jetty, where a fleet of wooden rowboats floated on the beaten water. He gave his umbrella a twirl and the water that had filled them vanished. After instructing them no more than four a boat, everybody began to nervously board.

Once everybody had been seated, the boats began to move, gliding through the rain-churned waters as calmly as though the rain didn't exist. Martin sat as squat as a mushroom, hugging himself pointlessly. Halfway through the journey did he notice the yellow-hair girl was sitting across from him. She was turned at the waist to continue her amazement. Her hood had fallen off, showing now a full head of matted yellow curls. She turned to look at Martin with an amazed expression.

"Isn't it _brilliant_?" She said.

"Looks like any other school I've ever seen." Martin grumbled. Yellow hair gave him a strange look before turning back to gawk.

The boats carried them across the lake a tunnel in the cliff. The removal of the rain was a sudden, intense relief. The temperature had not changed from outside the tunnel, but now felt like sitting next to a fireplace. The yellow-haired girl sat forward again, her excitement splashed across her face. From inside her robes she took a rolled-up bit of cloth, which when shook turned into a pointy witch's hat. She sat in on her head, the angle obscuring one of her bright blue eyes. She peered the other towards Martin, catching him looking at her as he wrung out his sleeves.

"My brother got it for me." She said. Martin nodded.

From the rocky little underground pier, pink-umbrella led them up to a courtyard that housed the big oak doors of the castle. The rain, seemingly excited to see them again, once more bit their shoulders and heavied their clothes. Yellow-hair's hair drooped sadly, looking much like Martin felt. Pink-umbrella banged three times on the doors. Much to Martin's relief, then opened swiftly.

Inside, an elderly witch met them under one of the big arching passageways. Dressed in green robes with a hat much pointier than yellow-hair, she began talking on about house names and dormitories. Martin stood still hugging himself, now somewhat colder than outside due to his robes still being just as wet. The witch was midway through explaining house points when Martin could no longer bare it and flew up his hand. The witch came to a curious stop and pointed her stern expression Martin's way.

"Ma'am, I was wondering when we could change into dry clothes." He asked. The smallest hint of a smile fluttered across the witch's face.

"Of course." She said, lifting a wand from inside her robes. She swept it across the space in front of her and just like that everybody's clothes became as dry as they'd been back in London.

"Thank you." said Martin, sticking his hands into his pockets. The witch continued, Martin drifting in and out enough to understand the basic gist of what was being said. When she finished, the witch made everybody line up single-file and then marched them into the Great Hall.

The Great Hall was just that. With hundreds of candles floating casually in the air above tremendously long tables that ran vertically to the horizontal teacher's tables up front, with a ceiling that reflected the moody grey rainfall sky so well that Martin almost expected to again become drenched. The witch that led them in hurried along to set up a three-legged stool on which she placed a hat much like yellow-hair's in front of him, but much, much older. She took a sidestep from it, giving a few minutes of silence before a wide stitch opened in the front and the hat began to sing.

By the end of the song, Martin found himself tapping his toe, the sound not unlike a lazy woodpecker. It filled the sudden silence, turning the attention of many nearby students to Martin. The first-year in line behind him gave him a little shove, knocking him into yellow-hair who gave a look of stern disapproval.

The pointy-hat witch next to the hat stepped forward, this time unfurling a roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, you shall step forward and be sorted!"

So she began. One by one, first-years were singled out of line to go and put on the elder hat. Martin looked up and down the line. He was suddenly curious as to why they had to be 'sorted' this way. In his years of primary before receiving his acceptance owl, students were put into classes according to their age and grade-a simple, straightforward method of putting people where they needed to be.

"MALAGOT, MARTIN!" The witch yelled. With a resolute sigh, Martin walked up to the front and put on the hat. It fell nearly over his eyes, just so that he could still see most of the hall, but also the underside of the wide brim. For a moment, nothing happened, then a distant voice spoke.

"Hmm-hmm-hmm. Quite the serious one, aren't you? But not serious enough to deter your determination. Maybe Slytherin, perhaps? No, no...that's too much a different kind of serious...alright, then."

"RAVENCLAW!" The hat bellowed and the nearby Ravenclaw table cheered. Martin removed the hat, nodded respectfully at the nearby witch and hurried off to sit down. A few hands extended as he made his way to the empty spot near the far end, to which Martin obliged either handshakes or slaps, depending on position.

"NEA, CHARLOTTE!" The witch yelled. Yellow-hair broke out of line and nearly ran up to the hat, only just containing herself as she replaced her own hat with the sorting one. It covered her eyes wholly. She sat for the same few moments as Martin did, legs crossed, holding her hat neatly in her lap.

"RAVENCLAW!" Shouted the hat. Once more the table around Martin erupted into applause and Charlotte blushed pink as she found the empty seat across from Martin, re-fixing her hat onto her head. She watched the rest of the sorting with the same excitement that she'd carried to this point, clapping hard at each student sorted. Once every first-year was found at their respective tables, the headmaster took the podium. Martin daydreamed through the following speech, part imagining what new things he was going to learn and part wishing the speech (and its surrounding riff raff) would end.

When the food appeared, filling the various plates and bowls, Martin flinched out of his thoughts. He looked hungrily up and down the table. Charlotte was carefully scooping little domes of potatoes onto her plate. Martin took a few pork chops and a pile of steamed carrots, biding his time until the potatoes were free. He reached to take them from Charlotte's hand before they even touched the table. She peered at him from under her hat, at first somewhat pensive, then with a broad smile.

"My brother says this is the best food in all of Britain." She said.

"Sure looks that way." Martin said, burying his carrots and pork chops under potatoes.

"He's just graduated last year." Charlotte continued, "Working at the Ministry now."

"Oh yeah?" said Martin. He had found a slight annoyance at being roped into the conversation. He filled his mouth, listening to Charlotte go on about her brother's prestige. The students next to them had turned to occupy their own engagements, leaving both Martin and Charlotte alone at the end of the benches.

"My mum was so happy when my owl came." Charlotte said, "Though-I think she'd prefer me in Gryffindor."

"A house is a house." spat Martin through potatoes, "Doesn't really matter."

"Of course it matters!" said Charlotte indignantly, "My brother was in Gryffindor and loved it very much!"

"He would have liked any house he was put into." said Martin. He had cleared half his plate and was scraping his fork through leftover gravy. Charlotte peered at him from under her hat. He could feel her preparing a further lecture. It was the same kind of steady pause that his mother would use right before dressing him down. He spun a few more spirals into his gravy.

"Water!" He said, looking up suddenly enough to make Charlotte flinch. Her mouth closed quickly, exactly the effect Martin desired. He looked up and down the table, "Where's the water?"

"There's pumpkin juice." said Charlotte, pointing at a nearby pitcher. Martin looked at it flatly before filling his cup. He wrinkled his nose at the taste and Charlotte, sitting now with her head in her hands, watched him as though she knew exactly how he was going to react.

"I just want _water_." explained Martin, meeting her skeptical stare. He leaned to look down the length of the table. The only pitchers he could see were those full of pumpkin juice. He began to raise his hand, only to quickly withdraw it as he saw how much conversation was occurring at the teacher's table.

With a sigh, he found an empty cup nearby and set it before him. From inside his robe he withdrew his wand. He steadied the tip against the rim. Charlotte sat up straight, holding up her palms in sudden panic.

"W-what are you doing?" She asked.

"My mom uses this spell all the time, don't worry." Martin said.

"Y-y-you can't! You can't c-cast spells in here!"

Martin gave her nervous stutter a genuine smile. He then hit the edge of the cup with his wand and said sternly " _Aguamenti!"_ There was a cannon blast of water from the tip of his wand. Everything on the table between Martin and Charlotte was exploded into the air. Charlotte herself was thrown backwards from the force of it, bowling into Gryffindor students who had turned to look at just that moment. Martin, who had flown the other way and into a row of Slytherin, had knocked his head against their table. He saw stars upon impact. He became incredibly dizzy, so much that trying to get to his feet only caused him to fall, much to the pleasure of all the students around him.

He got to his knees, head still swimming. Before he could try to get to his feet again, somebody had wrestled him under the arms and was dragging him out of the Great Hall. Martin didn't put up a fight. He simply kept tight on his wand. The last thing he saw before turning into the hall was Charlotte being propped up by a myriad of helpful hands, her expression sour and her hat askew.

"You've got some nerve!" His dragger said. They had walked the length of the hallway before Martin was thrown to the ground in preparation for accosting, "Couldn't even wait until after the Feast to cause trouble, eh?"

Martin said nothing. The boy who had dragged him from the hall was a full two heads higher than him and much wider. Spiky brown hair and the kind of face that looked like hard clay. A shiny Prefect badge glittered from the dim lamplight. He crossed his arms and looked expectantly at Martin.

"Anything to say?"

"I just wanted some water." said Martin.

"And it didn't cross your little first-year mind to just _ask_?"

Martin pulled up to one knee, then to his feet, the whole time under watch of the big prefect.

"Ask who?" asked Martin.

"Just _ask_." said the prefect, his tone taking a sudden empathic softness, "The house-elves would have provided you with some."

"Why couldn't it just have been on the table, then?" Martin scrunched up his face, "Maybe I wasn't the only one who wanted water."

The prefect looked him up and down. When he spoke, his voice was hard again.

"I hope this isn't a sign of things to come, yeah?" he said, "You keep your nose clean, understand? No detention this time-it's too early for that-but I'll be watching you."

"Thanks." said Martin, hoping it didn't sound as sarcastic as it felt.

"Get to the common room, then. That'll be that for it."

The Prefect made a sweeping point. Martin turned to look. When he turned again to ask directions the prefect had hurried away, leaving him alone in the now-chilly hallway.


	2. The Lost Ravenclaw

**2 - The Lost Ravenclaw**

An hour later and Martin was cursing the entire castle. Each hallway felt like a dead-end in a tortuous maze. The paintings on the walls didn't help, either, with half of them jeering and jabbing Martin for being lost and the other ignoring his plea for directions. The rotating staircases didn't help any. Any students he saw hurried past him, either snickering or absorbed In their own affairs. He found some hope, eventually, in the form of a painting of a fat lady, who looked down at him as he approached.

"Password?" She said.

Martin shrugged, "I don't have one."

"Then you don't get in!" The fat lady said.

"I wasn't given a password." said Martin, "Is this the Ravenclaw room?"

" _These_." the fat lady corrected sharply, "are the Gryffindor dorms."

Martin shut his eyes in frustration and rolled his head around his shoulders. He rubbed his forehead with his hand.

"Do you know where Ravenclaw is?"

"Not _here_!" sang the fat lady. Her sudden baritone further annoyed Martin and he did a quick about-face. Just as he was at the end of the hall, the sing-song of the fat lady chased after him, " _Try the WEST tower!_ "

Without any other clue, Martin followed the fat lady's advice, at least the best he could. Finding direction in the school was troublingly hard. Every hall looked similar and heaven forbid one takes a stairway. Frustrated to a bubbling redness, Martin took a moment to lean against the glass of one of the tall windows. Staring up at the cloudy night sky he thought of home.

Right about now his mother would be stirring clean the stew pot with an animated sponge while the dishes stacked themselves into the nearby cabinet. Martin would be watching from the nearby table, either admiring her form or peppering her with questions about it.

It was during one of those nights that his Hogwarts letter arrived. The big barn owl tapped gently at the stained-glass window at the kitchen's backdoor and once let in, casually dropped the letter on the table and exited in one graceful circle.

His mother gave the bird a distasteful stir. She made a comment about her dislike of the animals.

"The post would be just as good." She said. She plucked a feather from Martin, who was spinning it between his fingers. She had been very pleased at the letter, however, breaking her normally stoic expression with a broad smile.

During their trip to Diagon Ally Martin got his first taste of the Wizarding world. He disliked having to use a silly secret passage. He understood the purpose but thought a locked door would do just as good.

The first visit was to the wandmaker. He was a very old man, overflowing with hair. He measured out a wand for Martin as though he was being fit for a suit. Then to the broomstick store, where it was the same procedure. The bookstore was the best stop and Martin and his mother both enjoyed poring through various tomes until the store became too crowded to loiter any further.

His mother shed no tears during his farewell. She hugged him tight, tighter than she'd ever done and told him to learn all he could, no matter where he ended up. She slipped him a few galleons with her last forehead kiss.

Back at the window, Martin reached into his pocket and jangled about the coins, now multiplied since the purchase of a chocolate frogs changed out a galleon. He removed the frog from his pocket, still unopened. He had been too nervous to eat them on the train, only purchasing them as not to miss the opportunity.

He pried open the lid. The little brown frog inside jumped out at once, hitting the floor and hurrying away. Martin threw his hands into the air and turned to give the window a stern look of honest frustration before chasing after it.

For enchanted chocolate, Martin was very surprised how fast it could move. His footsteps beat steadily off the hard stone. The frog hurried around two corners and on the third, led Martin to run straight into his big prefect. He had been watching the sudden appearance of a chocolate frog when Martin collided with him. Martin bounced off as though he hit brick, falling squarely on his bottom.

"Oi." the prefect said, "why aren't you in the dorms?"

"I got lost." said Martin. He got to his feet, rubbing his backside. The prefect stared him down until a dawn of realization broke.

"Shoulda given you directions, then." He grunted, "guess I got caught up in the moment."

"May I get directions then, sir?"

" _Sir_?" the prefect looked down at his badge, "Oh, right. Don't mind being polite. Name's York. York Allenway."

"I'm Martin."

York just about turned Martin's hand to mush with a handshake, then knocked most of the air from his lungs with a slap on the back.

"Ravenclaw's just down the hall." He said, "just follow your frog. I'd lead you but I gotta patrol for a while yet. It's almost curfew."

Had it been that long? Martin looked up again at the dark sky. He supposed it was already late when they arrived.

"Thanks." He said. He gave York a curt nod and ducked around him.

"Good night!" York said before turning the corner.

True to his word, a big wooden door sat at the end of the hall. Warm with sudden relief, Martin jogged the rest of the hall to it. His chocolate frog was sat in the corner, out of bounce and on its back. Martin picked it up between index finger and thumb. It had accumulated a fine layer of dust. He used his free hand to give the big brass knocker a yank.

Nothing. The hard frustration from before returned. He gave another two hard tugs then slammed the knocker against the door. The sound was like thunder through the hall.

"How do you escape a dungeon with just a staff?"

The low voice emanated from the bronze eagle on the door. It made Martin jump, squeezing his frog. He stared at the thing. It had asked him a question. Why? Martin looked back over his shoulder in hopes of seeing some help, but he was alone. Then, the fat lady from the Gryffindor entrance sang through his thoughts. He slapped his forehead. Of course, he snarled, this is the password.

What was the question? How to escape a dungeon with just a staff? The obvious answer would be to use magic. Perhaps an explosion or an unlocking spell, _Alohamora,_ was it? One could also use a summoning charm to get the key. His mother used those all the time at home.

But wait. Martin crossed his arms in thought. The door specified _staff._ Not a wand. That meant magic probably wasn't the answer. The staff could be used to maybe pry open the bars, though Martin knew the answer was probably a lot more obtuse than that.

He looked up at the knocker and took a chance with the first nonsense answer that came to mind.

"Break the staff in half. Two halves make a hole."

"That is acceptable." the door said. It swung open enough for Martin to grip and sneak through. It closed tightly behind him.

The Ravenclaw common room was a wide space with white marble walls and statues in arches. A dozen or so plump chairs and couches littered about with just as making wooden tables and their stools. The only light came from the dying fireplace. Everything made a hard shadow pointing away from it. Martin surveyed the room. A glint of light off of something shiny caught his attention and drew him to a pair of chairs facing one of the big windows. Rain spattered the glass, the sound soothingly melodic. Sitting in the right chair was Charlotte. She was looking at Martin, the firelight glinting off her eyes, cheeks and hair. As he approached she furiously wiped her face with her sleeves, pulling on her hat from her lap and keeping the brim low.

"Still awake?" asked Martin. He was painfully aware how nervously pathetic he sounded, trying to play it cool.

Charlotte sniffled, "I was waiting for you. I was going to yell at you for what you did."

" _Was_?"

Charlotte shrugged weakly, "I don't feel like it anymore."

Martian sat opposite Charlotte. She turned to look at her feet, showing Martin the top of her hat.

"I'm sorry." said Martin, "I didn't think that would happen."

"I thought you'd been expelled." said Charlotte, "that big prefect dragged you out and then came back in alone and talked to the teachers… the head of the house came to talk to me and he seemed upset when I told him what happened."

Martin didn't say anything.

"And then everybody started making fun of you and me, calling us the _Aquamentals._ They started saying we were just showing off and when I told them about what actually happened they just kept laughing and… and… "

Charlotte sniffled away a sob under her hat. She wiped her cheeks again, "I just wanted today to be perfect. I was so happy and then you… "

"You can yell at me." Martin said.

"I'm too tired."

"Well…" Martin looked at his hands, then extended an open palm to Charlotte, "you can have this."

A teary blue eye peered from under the brim of Charlotte's hat. Her eyebrows turned upward at the sight of the dirty chocolate frog smashed across Martin's hand.

"No thanks." she said. She slid out of the chair, making a noticeable effort to keep her face hidden,"I'm going to bed."

She wiggled her arm until her wand slid from her sleeve into her hand.

" _Lumos!_ " she said. The tip of the wand lit up in a tiny orb of soft, clean light. She held it in front of her as she started towards the girl's dormitory door. Martin watched her go, his mind racing to think of something to say.

"Thank you for waiting up for me!" He said. Charlotte paused only enough to recognize that she heard, then vanished through the dormitory door. Martin sat in the dim, just him and the patterning rain. He looked down at the corpse of his chocolate frog, closing his fist around it with a sigh.

"Dear mother." He said, his voice ominously hollow in the empty common room, "it's been a great first day."

He turned to look at the dormitory doors. With another sigh he stood up. He withdrew his wand from inside his robe and held it up in front of him.

" _Lumos!_ " He said, flicking his wand like a whip. The end lit up like a sun, filling the common room with a tremendous light. It reminded him of the stadium lights during football games his uncles used to take him to. In a panic, Martin dropped the wand. The light persisted still. In a further flurry of panic he grabbed it up and shoved it tip-down into the cushions of his chair. The light vanished from the room, though the chair illuminated as though it were an alien spacecraft descending upon Earth. Martin sluffed down in the seat with it, staring blankly at the window.

"A _great_ first day." He said.


End file.
